


Full Circle

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: The Lady Herald and Her Lion [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fanart, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gift Giving, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 10:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11378601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Cullen tries to think of a gift to give to the Inquisitor in thanks for putting up with so much hardship, especially from him.





	Full Circle

Cullen rubbed his temples with gloved fingers after sending off the dwarven courier with an intimidating stack of messages to deliver to various correspondents within Skyhold’s towering walls. For the first time in a long time, his burgeoning headache was merely the result of staring too long at blank parchment in candlelight, not excruciating withdrawals.

That, and he’d been wracking his brain trying to think of something special to buy for the Inquisitor.

He wanted to give her something as a small gesture…something to brighten her day and show his affections for her, but he could think of nothing appropriate. Like him, she wanted for nothing. Even his own salary as commander of the Inquisition’s military forces was more customary than anything else – they were all cared for, clothed, and fed, with a roof over their heads (however leaky at times) and all the accommodations they could ask for, courtesy Josephine’s tremendous talents and extensive connections. Almost all surplus money was merely tossed into a retirement fund – collected and saved for later.

Verana herself, as a former Circle mage, seemed used to owning few possessions, to the point that even extra ensembles in her wardrobe seemed to make her slightly uncomfortable. He knew she wore many of those outfits because she felt pressured to, not necessarily because she wanted to.

What, then, to get the woman who seemingly has everything she desires and more?

Sighing, he set his quill in its inkwell and leaned back in his chair with a soft jingle and creak, crossing his hands behind his head as he watched the rhythmic flicker of the candle on his desk. He was ashamed to admit he didn’t even know what her favourite flower was. And would she even _want_ something like flowers? Would she see them as wasted expense, considering they would wither and die in a week’s time?

Would any expense at all be deemed imprudent and nonsensical?

The only time he had tried to give her anything material was when he had offered her the lucky coin his brother had given him, and she had declined the gift, citing her own concern for him, as she was unwilling to deprive him of, perhaps, his only source of good fortune…however superstitious it may have been. He was not disappointed by her decision, though – the gesture was heartwarming. If anything, it had made his efforts seem less than considerate, despite their original intent.

His one crowning victory was when he had successfully brought her Templar brother, Donovan, to the safety of Skyhold, easing her worry for her beloved sibling and protecting him from the corruption of red lyrium. Besides that, his demonstration of his love for her had been embarrassingly disproportionate to hers: she had sat with him through nights’ worth of lyrium withdrawal symptoms; she had massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders when she herself was tired beyond measure; she had endlessly worried as she watched over him during the worst of his withdrawal episodes, and what had he given her in return? Mostly, more stress. It made him feel rather pathetic – an unjust weight on her already heavily burdened shoulders. Their trip into the Hinterlands was a disaster, his intent to comfort her after her nightmares had turned into a catastrophic withdrawal episode…

_Maker, I’m not good at this._

Shaking his head, he then chuckled to himself as he realized that this was a completely unexpected position for him to be in. Months ago, when the Inquisition first started, he had no idea he would eventually be sitting in an office in a renovated fortress wracking his brain for an appropriate gift to give his love…

The Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste.

_How had it all started?_

His eyes focused into the shadows in the far corner as his memories swam to the surface of his mind.

She was a mess when she had, quite literally, fallen out of the Fade. He had only Cassandra and Leliana’s word to go on until she awakened, but by all accounts, she had more than willingly gone with the Left and Right Hands to try to stem the tide of demons; she put her life on the line without hesitation, despite supposedly suffering amnesia after the explosion. He had been told that she was in near-constant and intense pain before the Breach was finally stabilized, and she was knocked unconscious for days after sealing the first Fade rift. That she survived first the explosion and then the closing of the main rift was, from what people told him, nothing short of miraculous. Who else could have made it through all of that but someone blessed by the Maker?

Yet her status as a mage confused many of the residents in Haven, and he had to admit that it briefly gave him pause as well. How could a mage, of all people, be guided by Andraste through the Fade and given the power to stop the demons, they said. It was impossible, they insisted. Yet, he remembered finding himself frowning when he heard those rumors that swirled through the camp, and he had recalled then those long nights in Kirkwall after the disaster at the Chantry and the Gallows, when he had deeply contemplated the fact that mages were indeed children of the Maker, too. They all had every right to be suspicious of her…but to go so far as to suggest that Andraste would never guide a mage’s hand? Who were they to claim to know the will of heaven?

He had expected someone a bit more intimidating, what with all the outlandish stories that were circulating amongst his soldiers. When Cassandra finally introduced her to him in the makeshift war room of Haven’s Chantry, he had not imagined that the already-legendary Herald would be a woman nearly a foot shorter than he and with a slim, less-than-imposing build. But she did carry herself with confidence and an almost ethereal grace, and her mysterious violet eyes were arresting – whatever power was not conveyed in her stature was instead delivered in demeanor.

He knew that behind those eyes was the potential for destruction held in check only by her will. And yet, despite the Mark that shimmered visibly on her bare palm and his own knowledge that the Fade touched more than just her hand, there were times in those early days that he had to remind himself of that fact. She did not loudly proclaim her abilities like many of the mages who sought refuge from the war in the Inquisition’s arms. Indeed, many times she did not even carry her staff as she worked around Haven, instead keeping it in the small cabin that had been granted her by the grateful citizenry. The pain of the Mark gone, eased by the stabilization of the Breach, she saw to the people of Haven as she would her fellow kinsmen, helping to deliver supplies and ferry intelligence, all between reports from Leliana and Cassandra on how to proceed with the fledgling Inquisition. He watched her more often than he would have liked to admit, admiring how she seemed to shrug off negativity, despite the ominous cloud that had still not been completely banished from the skies above. She smiled often, a genuine expression that was rather infectious, and her hair – darker than Leliana’s ravens – would bounce on her shoulders with the purpose of her steps…

Outside of their designated meetings, he spoke with Verana only rarely in those days. She was polite, occasionally inquiring lightly as to how things were proceeding with the troops’ training, and always giving him all of her attention when he spoke, meeting his eyes with those exotic blue-violet orbs of hers. She seemed comfortable whenever she was around him, even if she did elect to keep her distance most of the time. At first, he wondered if this distance was maintained because of the combined factors of his not-so-hidden past as a Templar and her own magehood; he had noticed the flash of recognition in her eyes when Cassandra first spoke his name to her…

But then, she chose to contact the remaining Templars for aid against the Breach instead of the rebel mages, which caused him to rethink his assumption.

Her decision had caught him completely off-guard. The only other time a mage had so openly supported the Templars was when Hawke did so after the Chantry explosion in Kirkwall – but that had seemed far more understandable considering the circumstances and Hawke’s personal experiences. Here was a Circle mage, a victim of the mage-Templar war, viewed with suspicion by Chantry officials and Inquisition members alike, openly and actively seeking out for help those whom so many other Circle mages saw as ruthless jailors and merciless hunters.

And, as her reasoning made evident, it was because she agreed with his logic. How ironic, then, that the one person in the room who agreed with his assessment that mages could be detrimental to their plan to seal the Breach was a mage herself. One who had spent most of her life confined in a Circle, no less. He was shocked, and her dazzling, yet almost sheepish smile of support had rendered him momentarily speechless. Once committed to this path, she seemed rather eager to begin, and her departure for Therinfal Redoubt had left them all full of hope – particularly the residents of Haven, who, like most in Thedas, put their trust in the Templars when wild magic was afoot. When she returned at last from her arduous journey, at least a dozen veteran Templars in tow, that hope only increased tenfold, almost palpable in the air.

They had not noticed, as he had, the haunted look that shadowed her eyes when she rode through the village gates, even as she smiled at him warmly in anticipation of what was to come.

He had not witnessed her actually seal the Breach, having been back in the village with troops on standby in case plans went awry. He did, however, see the result of her work and that of the Templars who supported her with their nullifying power. With an echoing crack, the sky sealed shut, the green glow of the Fade vanishing from the heavens and the swirling clouds ceasing their endless vortex above. The people of Haven, including his soldiers, could not contain their joy; there was dancing and singing in the streets, drinking and laughing…elves with humans, mages with Templars, Chantry sisters with mercenaries. He himself had not been able to stop grinning, sharing a drink with Varric and feeling for the first time, like everyone else, that the end of the world was no longer nigh. That there could be some sense of peace at last.

And as for Verana, if anyone had ever doubted her before, they doubted her no longer. The people of Haven toasted the mage who had been blessed by the Maker and guided by Andraste’s hand.

But then, Corypheus descended upon Haven.

The attack had taken them all by surprise. As torches lit up the mountainside like a thousand fireflies, she had run to his side for a plan…and to his shame, he had none to give her. Not right away, at least. On the spot, he had devised the strategy to use the trebuchets on the mountain, to bury their foes under rock and snow. It was all she needed…she launched into the defense of Haven without a second thought, ensuring his men had enough time to load and fire the trebuchets. It was the first time he had witnessed her in battle, and though he had beheld the talents of many a mage in his life firsthand, he had felt himself particularly inspired by her skill…and her courage. It had not been difficult to rally the men behind her, the electric crackle of her magic making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck all the while.

But just as they thought they had won, the dragon swooped out of nowhere, setting them all back to square one and then some. As they retreated to the Chantry, he felt certain it was the end, and he had even begun to come to terms with that fact, until Roderick began babbling about the secret passages below the dungeon. Without hesitation, the Herald offered to buy them time while they made their escape, and he knew without a doubt what would likely happen to her. He realized then the true extent of her selflessness, and he felt something twist painfully inside him.

He felt pity for the mage who would sacrifice herself for them all…and he would not let that sacrifice be in vain.

He had steeled himself for the worst. He had seen the arm of the trebuchet swing after he had sent the signal flare…heard the crack and roar of the falling snow and rock as it tumbled down the mountainside, burying the town below even as their damned enemy escaped. After what seemed like eons, he felt Cassandra’s hand on his arm as she gestured for them to keep going, and he had not wanted to turn away, hoping to see a flash of magic somewhere or a banner of black hair in the wind. Yet there was nothing but the howl of the increasingly-cold gale and the steady puffs of his misty breath in the night.

His heart was heavy as they trudged through thick banks of snow to find a place to shelter. Even if she had managed to survive the avalanche, the cold would surely kill her before long, as a blizzard was blowing in with dangerous rapidity. The Herald was likely dead, and it was his fault…his fault for not preparing the town enough, his fault for letting his guard down…his fault for believing they were safe at last.

They finally found a valley that blocked most of the winds of the blizzard, and they quickly and miserably set up tents and a bonfire to stave away the chill. All the while he prayed – prayed for the Herald to weather the storm. And yet she did not come…

Just when he was ready to believe that she was truly gone, he saw it…the flicker of the Mark in the distance from where she held her hand against the wind in a feeble attempt to shield her face. He had called her name, but it was carried away, even as he dashed forward like a madman, no one foolish enough to hold him back. Cassandra, Leliana, and Solas had followed in his trail, calling to both him and Verana as he ran. He caught up to her just as she collapsed, exhausted, her pale face turning blue with cold. He picked her up, her form astonishingly light to him even armored as it was, her Mark still smarting and casting an eerie glow on his breastplate.

 _“It’s all right Herald…you’re safe,”_ he had said as he turned back towards camp, his face chiseled into an expression of raw determination as he hunched over her to protect her from the wind. It was a promise, and he had meant it. He had no idea if she had heard him or not, but he wanted her to believe him…to trust him.

She had been wrapped in warm blankets and sheltered in the tent nearest the fire. He, Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine argued for hours, unable to sleep and unable to formulate how to move forward, whilst Mother Giselle watched over the recovering Herald. They yelled themselves hoarse, throwing blame at each other’s doorstep in their grief and fear. But then the Revered Mother began to sing in her melodious alto voice “The Dawn Will Come,” a hymn Cullen knew well from his youth in the Chantry. As he looked in the Mother’s direction, he noticed from the glitter of dark eyes in the shadows that Verana had woken at last; she propped herself on her elbows as she watched the priestess’s attempt to bring calm to the chaotic camp of bedraggled survivors, and he had to hold himself back from her side, forcing himself to give her some distance. Instead, he focused on the words to a song that had not even crossed his mind in a very, very long time, and letting them bring peace to his battered heart.

Suddenly, Leliana harmonized with Giselle in her lilting soprano, and it was in the second verse of the hymn that he felt his own voice burst from within to join them. He had not felt like singing in what seemed like forever, the weight of duty too heavy on his shoulders for him to indulge in such rejoicing, but somehow he could not hold it in any longer. Like a bird freed from its cage, the song flew out of him and into the clear night air with a strength that surprised him. The voices of the rest of the survivors slowly joined in, inspired by their leaders’ singing, and they quickly drowned him out, yet there was part of him that hoped Verana had heard him.

It was only later that he realized it wasn’t Giselle who had pulled the song from him, but Verana.

While Solas led them to what would be their new headquarters, Cullen was occupied with logistics, ensuring supplies were evenly distributed and that everyone had food and water. Too few of their brontos had survived the attack, and sometimes he had to shoulder packs for those too weary to carry their own anymore. All the while Verana moved back and forth along the line of refugees, warming cold hands and feet with magic and keeping the travelers in high spirits just by speaking with them and offering words of encouragement. The sun above beamed upon them like the Maker’s soothing light, but Cullen found that Verana shone just as brightly – their guiding star. She burned with a quiet strength that fueled them all, and over the course of the next few evenings, he and the other founders of the Inquisition unanimously nominated her as their Inquisitor.

Yet, despite her strength, she was burdened as heavily as they, if not more so, and this burden finally became visible after they reached the sprawling mountain fortress of Skyhold. He remembered it plainly; she came from the keep to speak with him, and once they reached the relative privacy of the battlements, she unloaded on him her experience at Therinfal, confessing her fear to him with candid detail. That haunted look in her eyes returned as she conveyed her thoughts to him, though she did not meet his gaze for the longest time. All the while he listened, he watched her, and perhaps allowed his eyes to wander more than he should have, taking in her shapely figure as she leaned against the crenellations. He quickly corrected himself, however, when she at last finished her tale, offering her his sincere sympathies and understanding – he knew well the fears she held and the nightmares that haunted her dreams. He offered her the reassurance she needed, certain that she was strong enough to hold any demon at bay since surviving Envy’s handiwork.

Only after, on his way back to the keep, did he dare to think the thoughts he had subconsciously suppressed since first meeting her in Haven…had not let himself even venture to contemplate. She was beautiful in an enchanting way; she drew him in like a lodestone. He knew it all too well and had tried desperately to resist her pull. She was not the only mage he had felt attracted to, the first having perished back at the Circle in Ferelden, back when he thought that he had trusted mages more than he should have. He remembered that in the aftermath of that terrible incident, he had not cared what had happened to the woman – a cousin of Hawke’s – and the truth of his coldness was a bitter potion to swallow. He tried to imagine feeling the same way about Verana as he had about the Amell girl, and his stomach churned at the thought.

Cullen would not be that man anymore. He refused to be that man. Though he knew his feelings were in conflict with his duty and he would not let them get in the way, neither would he treat her like he had so many other mages since the fall of the Ferelden Circle – as less-than-human. She was more than that, and he knew it in his gut. Even if he would always be concerned for her safety because of her magics, he would not ignore her well-being. It was a sentiment that had started in Kirkwall with the help of Hawke, but had been a long time in the making. In a sense, Verana had given him the impetus to make the final push past his troubled days as a Templar by giving him a different kind of mage to witness – a mage who truly used magic to serve man, and not for her own gain. She led the Inquisition as a shining example of what mages could and should be. And with her kindness, her courage, and her selflessness, he felt his wounded soul begin to heal…

Could he care for such a mage? Yes. He could. And he did, the emotion creeping up on him before he could stop it; unbidden and undetected, it slowly wrapped itself around his heart in winding tendrils until he finally gave it attention through proper thought. And he knew without a doubt that this feeling was much stronger than any shy boy’s crush he might have possessed as a youth. But he kept these thoughts to himself, not permitting himself to hope that she would care for him in the same way that he did her. And even if, by the whim of the Maker, she somehow _did_ , they could not dare share it. Their positions would not allow them to. Thus, it was useless to even think about, and he had pushed these musings as far as he could to the back of his mind.

And yet, despite his best efforts, anytime he pushed them back, they found their way to the forefront of his thoughts again, stronger than ever. The subsequent Siege of Adamant tested him in ways he had not experienced before, and in ways he had not expected. Partway through the fight, he was informed that Verana, along with Hawke, Stroud, and the Warden Clarel, had vanished from the battlements. This was mixed in with simultaneous reports of the disappearance of that damned lyrium dragon, as well as a bridge collapse on the far side of the fortress, and he had to fight to maintain composure as all sorts of possibilities ran through his mind. He focused his attention on his troops, continuing to command them as they assisted their Warden allies in beating back the tide of demons, and he had almost succeeded in swallowing his fears for her when confirmation reached him that she had actually fallen into the Fade.

 _Physically_ fallen into the Fade…the first to enter in such a way since the Magisters themselves.

A mage. Vulnerable to demonic possession. Dropped right into their midst.

Even as the thoughts chilled him, his very skin prickling at the thought, he knew she would pull through – could believe nothing else. He reassured himself that Hawke was with her…if anyone could help the Inquisitor through such a plight, the formidable Viscountess of Kirkwall could. And as long as the summoning rift remained open – which only the Inquisitor could close – Verana would have a way back. Thus, he steeled himself, offered prayers to the Maker, and diligently continued his command, watching and waiting for her return.

After what seemed like hours, the excited shouts of his men finally alerted him to her presence, and he dashed into the courtyard of Adamant just as the rift winked out of sight, the Mark on her hand smarting and then blinking out as she raised her fist in triumph. The relief he had felt upon seeing her again had nearly weakened him, though he did his best not to show it. Once again, the Maker had delivered her through the darkness, and in turn, she them, and his heart was filled with hope once more.

They could do this.

He could have sworn that she cast him more than the usual number of approving looks on the way back, too…

Little did he know that the Maker would test him in even more trying ways in the very near future. No sooner than they had wiped the sand from their boots back at Skyhold, they caught word of a possible assassination plot against Empress Celene I of Orlais. Much to his disappointment, Leliana, Josephine, and Verana invented an elaborate plan to infiltrate the court – a plan that involved dancing.

Formal court dancing. With the Inquisitor herself, no less.

Despite his apprehension, irritation, and otherwise bad feelings about it all, he consented to the practices in which Josephine led them, refusing to let their plan fall apart because of him. It was an arena in which he had absolutely no experience, but he was determined to learn, adapt, and succeed. Their investigation depended on it. And besides, it simultaneously allowed him a convenient excuse to spend more time with Verana…and in rather close proximity, as he soon found out. Their practices were a mixture of bitter sweetness for him, as even though they permitted him to see her in a completely different element, they also caused a great amount of frustration – frustration which he tried his best not to take out on her or Josephine; his clumsy mistakes were not their fault, of course.

It did not help that, during last few weeks before their return from Adamant, the withdrawals were steadily getting worse.

Verana knew he had abandoned the lyrium – knew ever since they had arrived at Skyhold – but he had not informed her that the withdrawals were now producing regular headaches and chronic fatigue. These symptoms increased with stress levels, and so they became prominent during their most taxing of practices. It took great effort to shove them to the back of his mind, but shove them he did. And he did it with her help. Even though they both wore gloves and thick garments, he could feel the warmth of her hand in his, her touch on his shoulder…or was that just his skin reacting on its own? Either way, he began to look forward to their rehearsals, if for no other reason than for the wonderful distraction of her being near…

And then, the dreaded day itself came – the Grand Masquerade at the Winter Palace of Halamshiral. It was a gaudy, stuffy affair that was well out of his comfort zone. The only redeeming moments were those he spent with Verana, and those were the times he remembered most vividly; the rest of the event was but a blur, now. She had been absolutely jaw-dropping, her choice of attire as alluring as it was luxuriously beautiful. She had the Orlesian court eating out of her hand by the end of the evening, and with the help of Leliana’s agents, she had achieved peace in the Empire and thwarted Corypheus once more.

And she had also made him the happiest man in the world.

They had at last managed to steal a moment alone, away from the celebrating Orlesians. As they toasted their victory, she thanked him for humoring their plan, praising him for his patience and perseverance. Her words made him feel particularly proud, and he admitted, quite honestly, that being with her made it all worthwhile. He remembered that this confession seemed to take her by surprise, and her reflexive questioning that he would hold such a sentiment for a mage caused his mind to reel, however joking it might have been. He felt that the stars were aligning…that he had to banish those thoughts from her mind here and now or he might never have the chance to do so again. He _had_ to tell her how he felt, _had_ to erase that damned reputation of his for good. And so, however clumsily it came out, he confessed his love for her then and there, in the most candid and heartfelt of ways. He recalled those terrible moments of silence that followed, in which all he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears…how he was certain he’d botched it all up royally, and was steeling for the worst possible reaction. Seeing those glittering eyes made his heart ache, as he feared he had angered her or upset her beyond reconciliation.

Instead, he was answered with her own likewise confession, and it felt as though a bucket of snowmelt had been dumped on his head. Both stunned somewhat at the revelation that they both felt the same way for each other and had for months, it took a moment for them to react in more of a way than awkward staring. At last, however, he was granted the courage to actually kiss her…and it was a moment that he never regretted, nor would he ever forget.

And thus, he stopped fighting the pull of love and had come full circle, at last.

He chuckled to himself, smiling at the memory of their first kiss and shaking his head as his office swirled back into view. He had come full Circle, indeed. The mage puns would never go away, it seemed.

He stood slowly with a sigh, turning and leaning against the outer wall and peering through the slender window at the travelers crossing Skyhold’s bridge, some arriving, some departing. The fortress had become as much a trading center between Orlais and Ferelden as a headquarters for the Inquisition, and there was no shortage of merchants to be found at any given time peddling their wares in the castle’s courtyard.

His thoughts returning to his prospective gift, he was torn between getting her something practical and something completely frivolous. It almost didn’t matter _what_ exactly it was so long as it made her smile.

Sighing again in resignation, he decided to pay a visit to Bonny Sims, at last. He certainly wouldn’t find whatever it was if he didn’t start looking.

Posting a guard in his office to let anyone entering know that he was busy for the moment, he then made for the wall stars and descended into the courtyard, dodging soldiers and horses and making for the market stalls near the stables. Bonny Sims’s stall was the one he had in mind, as she always stocked the most tasteful merchandise of all the traders there.

He ignored the curious sets of eyes on him as he casually perused the Orlesian’s wares. Most of the things that he saw were too simple, to fancy, too expensive, too cheap, too…

A flash of silver caught his eye amongst the garments, and he pushed aside a large, heavy leather mantle to see an elegant ladies’ cloak folded neatly underneath. It was made of heavy black velvet, lined with indigo silk, the mantle and hood trimmed with black fox fur. The clasp was made from a silver corded tie that looped around the matching snarling faces of two great cats. There was a small bit of silver embroidery around the edges of the cloak, but other than that, it was relatively plain, the expense in the materials and meticulous craftsmanship rather than the intricacy of the decorations.

 _Perfect_.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Parcel for you, Inquisitor.”

Verana was busy writing at her desk when a messenger arrived in her quarters with a package in his hands. Brow furrowing as she looked up at him, she put her pen in her inkwell and asked, “Who is it from?”

The messenger looked it over briefly and shrugged, “It…doesn’t say, milady. Just that it’s for you.”

Verana hesitated, and then reached for it. “Very well, thank you.”

As the messenger handed off the package to her, he dipped his head and then spun on his heel, departing as swiftly as he had arrived. Once the courier had gone, her door audibly closing behind him, Verana studied the parcel curiously. Her name had been written on the paper wrapping – not “Inquisitor” or “Herald” but “Verana.”

Hope, the black inkspot of a kitten that sat silently beside her elbow on the desk, sniffed at the paper and offered a questioning “ _Mew?_ ”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Verana remarked, petting the top of the observant kitten’s head, “I wonder who sent it. Someone close, I would think…”

Hooking her thumb into the thin paper, she gently tore the wrapping away from whatever was underneath. It did not take her long to remove it all, and she was surprised as she held a bundle of soft black velvet in her hands. Unfolding it, she quickly realized that it was a cloak, and she let it fall to the floor to reveal its black fur trim and indigo silk lining.

Her mouth dropping open slightly, she reached with one hand and checked the wrapping again for any possible hint as to who had sent this luxurious garment to her. She had half a mind it was Josephine or Vivienne, insisting she add yet another appropriately elegant accessory to her winter wardrobe. But those two usually warned her of such things first with a friendly remark about her attire.

Standing, she held it at length and admired its craftsmanship, including the sparkling silver accents. Someone had spent a good deal of money on this piece, and she was dying to know who. Smiling to herself, she had a good idea how to find out…

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Verana’s new cloak swished about her ankles as she entered Josephine’s office. Despite being indoors, it was not an unusual sight; even though there were numerous blazing hearths in Skyhold, the frigid wind of the Frostbacks still found a way inside, chilling the winding dark corridors of the fortress.

As she entered the ambassador’s quarters, she hoped to find out who had obtained this garment for her. Surely Josephine, of all people, would know.

“Hello, Inqui-ohhhh…” Josephine’s brows rose as she glanced up from her paperwork and saw the cloak Verana wore. “Is that new? I don’t remember it being in our apparel shipments from Val Royeaux.”

“It is,” Verana glanced down at the hem, “And I didn’t buy it myself. Someone sent it to me, and I don’t know who. I was actually hoping you would know.”

Josephine stood and approached, carefully looking the garment up and down, “Unfortunately, I don’t…but I must say, whoever it is certainly has good taste.”

The Inquisitor’s brow furrowed, “So…you didn’t order it, then? And neither did Vivienne?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Josie answered, shaking her head as she put her hands on her hips, “Vivienne always goes through me to have anything delivered for your wardrobe. And you know her – she won’t _deign_ to peruse the wares of the peddlers who travel through here.”

“Odd,” Verana murmured, “I suppose I’ll have to search for the culprit elsewhere, then.”

Josephine chuckled, “I wish you luck on your quest, Inquisitor. Do let me know when you find out who it was. My curiosity is most certainly piqued, now.”

Nodding, Verana turned around and headed back into the main hall, striding for the doors and letting the ambassador return to her work.

 _Who could it be?_ she wondered as she walked, heading for the wall stairs as her second guess directed her steps.

Verana found her brother sitting on the edge of one of Skyhold’s battlement walks, legs dangling over the side of the wall as he observed the warriors sparring in the practice ring in the courtyard. He was dressed casually – knee-high boots over leather breeches, a heavy tunic and quilted gambeson to shield against the wind. It was odd seeing him without his armor, though he cut no less of an imposing figure, his clothing form-fitting despite its heaviness.

She pulled the cloak tighter as a particularly frigid blast of cold air swept across the walls, slowly easing herself down to sit beside him, when he looked up.

“Morning, sister. You look nice today,” he smiled.

“As do you,” she returned the compliment, “I owe this latest garment to an unknown benefactor, it seems.”

“Oh?” Donovan examined the cloak she was wearing more closely, “Well, that’s interesting. Someone gifted it to you, and you don’t know who it was?”

“I was thinking it might have been you,” she replied with a smirk, “Trying to look after me and all.”

He chuckled, “I’m flattered you would think such, but I’m afraid not. I don’t think I could afford to contemplate buying it, much less actually paying for it.”

She sighed, “That figures. I’m running out of guesses, then. It’s not you, nor Josephine, nor Vivienne.”

At that moment, Donovan’s eyes widened and then he let out an _Ooh_ of sympathy as he observed one combatant effectively disarm the other with a rough smack of a practice sword on a wrist bone. Squinting against the cold wind, Verana realized it was Cassandra who had handily beaten an unfortunate soldier in the ring. She grinned, not at all surprised when she realized it was the Seeker, and then glanced to Donovan…

…to see the Templar with an odd, appreciative smile plastered to his face as he watched Cassandra training. Then, he shook his head slowly and remarked, mostly to himself, “She’s something, isn’t she?”

Verana could hardly believe her ears. She was silent, staring at him with a slightly open mouth until he looked her way and answered her expression with a bewildered, “What?”

She slowly closed her eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re crushing on the Seeker.”

“ _What?!_ ” he exclaimed, “What made you think that? I-I mean, of course I’m not…I merely find her combat prowess admirable and her techniques remarkable.”

Verana smiled wryly, “You’re crushing on her.”

“I…” he trailed, knowing it was useless to protest anymore, “Oh, all right. I do find her…attractive, yes. But that doesn’t mean a damn thing because she’s not exactly approachable. And besides, I am, quite literally, beneath her. If she found out I was watching her so closely, she’d probably kick my ass to Val Royeaux and back for breach of protocol. I’ll settle for admiring her from afar. And keeping my mouth shut about it.”

Verana’s brow rose, “She might be more approachable than you think…you just have to know how to do it.”

“Oh, I know how,” Donovan nodded emphatically, “With a nice, sturdy tower shield between us.”

His sister laughed aloud, “You’re so pessimistic, _really_! Cassandra may look intimidating, but there’s a softer side to her, you know.” At his skeptical expression, she leaned close and added, “She’s quite the romantic, actually.”

Donovan’s brows rose, “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” she replied, lowering her voice to a whisper and making sure no one else was within earshot, “She reads smutty literature in her spare time.”

His hazel eyes went wide before a grin of incredulity spread across his face, “I don’t believe it.”

“Varric Tethras’s _Swords and Shields_ , no less,” Verana continued, “Just…don’t let it get out I told you that. There wouldn’t be anything left of me to bury after Corypheus is defeated.”

He laughed, turning back to see the Seeker take on another opponent in the ring. When he was silent for a while, Verana added reassuringly, “If you’re worried about the vows, the Templar Order isn’t exactly an official thing right now. Actually, the whole Inquisition is rather heretical at the moment. You won’t have a better chance.”

After a few more moments, he sighed heavily, and then asked, “So, romantic, eh? Flowers, you think?”

“ _Roses_ ,” Verana specified with a knowing nod, “Red ones…always a classic.”

“Personal delivery or…?”

He trailed as Verana’s gaze met his and they both said simultaneously, “ _Anonymous_.”

They shared a hearty laugh, and Verana ruffled her brother’s hair playfully, “Go for it. You don’t know until you try.”

“True enough, sister.”

It was then he noticed the shape of the silver bosses around which her cloak’s tie was wrapped. “Cats…” he mused aloud, and then looked at Verana pointedly, gesturing to the cloak, “Verana… _cats_.”

She gave him a confused look, “What are you on about?”

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Donovan grasped her firmly by the shoulder, “Verana…who else around here is associated with cats? _Big_ ones?”

She stared at him for a moment before it hit her. When it did, she put her face in her hands with an audible smack, “Andraste preserve me, I’m an idiot.”

Donovan chuckled and put his arm around her, “No, you’re not an idiot, Verana. Just so unused to kindnesses that you have trouble understanding where they come from and why.”

That caught her off guard, and for several moments, she merely leaned into his shoulder and contemplated his words, realizing that he was right.

She didn’t know if it was humorous, or just plain sad.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come in.”

As soon as Cullen answered the knock, his office door opened and Verana stepped in, wearing the cloak he had picked out for her. She had donned it over her usual chain and leather ensemble, the low candlelight glinting off of the silver accents and wherever the shifting cloth revealed her maille sleeves. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight, and he felt proud of himself as she seemed to saunter in, her air of confidence adding to her already enchanting deportment.

 _Enchanting_. More mage puns.

“Cullen,” she half-sighed, glancing to either side before continuing, “Do you have a minute?”

His smile tugged wider as she straightened a pile of reports and moved around the desk towards her, “For you, my dear? Always.”

He could see her cheeks flush a bit at his words, and his heart warmed. Before he could think on it more, however, she replied, “Well…it seems you found one way to confuse me for hours.”

Leading her on a bit, he smirked, “And how is that?”

She tugged at the fur of her cloak, “By giving me an anonymous gift, of course.”

Cullen grinned, “Took you that long, did it?”

She glanced down, “Yes…and it’s rather embarrassing, actually.”

He shook his head, “Don’t be. I meant it to be a surprise. And it seems I succeeded.”

She chuckled, “Beyond your wildest dreams.” She glanced at the hem of the cloak, holding it out from her to look at it, “It’s beautiful. But…I’m not sure what I did to deserve it.”

His brow furrowed, “You didn’t have to _do_ anything, Verana. I just…wanted you to have something. To give you something nice.” He lifted her chin with his finger, “To make you smile.”

She answered his gesture with a sad, distant look, “I…thank you.” Thinking on what Donovan had said earlier, she added, “It’s just not something I’m used to. You know how it is in the Circle…we share most things, own very little. Anything we are given is usually a reward for something. To be given something just to have it…” she trailed, “Not even to keep up appearances. It’s…strange.” She chuckled to herself and added, “I haven’t had such since I was a child, barely old enough to remember.” Meeting his eyes again, she added, “Surely there’s more to it than that, though?”

He sighed, leaning back against his desk, “I…well, yes. A bit. I just feel that I haven’t…” he trailed, trying to find the words. He twisted his head side to side like he did when he was seriously contemplating something, a move he made subconsciously, just like his nervous neck-rubbing.

“You’ve given me so much,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper, “Your attention. Your time. Your patience.” He threw a hand in the air, “Everything. Maker, Verana, you’ve saved my life. _Twice_. I couldn’t help but feel this…what we have together…has been horribly one-sided. Sometimes I think I’ve given you nothing but trouble in return.” He gave her a sheepish smirk, the corner of his mouth tugging ever-so-slightly. He took a breath, and then continued on, a thoughtful ramble more than anything else: “I wanted you to have something that would remind you that I care about your well-being as much as you do mine, however poorly I may show it. Something you could take with you, help keep you-”

He stopped abruptly as she rushed forward, throwing her arms around his neck, “Oh, Cullen. You don’t have to give me anything for me to know that.” She buried her face in the curve of his neck and held him tight, “You already give me more than you realize.”

He slid his arms underneath the cloak, closing his eyes as he pulled her into him, wrapping her up in an equally-tight embrace. His weight was pushed back, making him half-sit on the edge of the desk, and a few items clinked together as he did so. He could feel her breath warm on his neck as she went on, “You give me strength, love. Whenever I feel I’m failing, all I have to do is think of you, and I am stronger. I have the courage to face anything. You’ve always given me that.”

He felt his cheeks reddening. But before he could say anything in response, she continued, “Your welcome home after time spent away is always so sweet to me, and what precious time I have with you always gives me a sense of peace. Cullen, you give me everything just by being.”

His arms tightened around her pulling her ever closer as he pressed his face into her silky raven mane, a flowery scent tickling his nose. Words could not describe how she made him feel, how much he cherished her…

After a few moments, she pulled back and pecked a quick kiss on his cheekbone, “I have to go back to my work, love. But thank you for the lovely gift. I’ll take it with me wherever I go,” she smiled sheepishly, “and I’ll try not to soil it too badly.”

She then turned and swirled out of the room, the last thing he saw being the tail of the cloak and her red-lipped grin as she glanced back over her shoulder before the door closed behind her. Even though he knew she was going nowhere but to her quarters, he felt pain and longing at her parting.

He’d replaced one addiction with another, it seemed, and this one he never wanted to break.

 

[ ](https://captain-savvy.deviantart.com/art/A-Precious-Moment-680395535)

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Parcel for you, Lady Seeker.”

Cassandra looked up from her sword, placing it and her whetstone on the table beside her as she glanced to the messenger in the doorway of the smithy. Frowning, she asked, “What is it?”

The messenger shrugged, extending the parcel, “No idea, milady. No name, just says it’s for you.”

Taking the wrapped package, which was longer than it was wide, she nodded, “Very well, thank you.”

“Lady Seeker.”

Cassandra waited until the messenger was gone before examining the parcel more closely. It was relatively lightweight, suggesting something delicate within. Carefully, she pulled the twine that held the fragile paper together and let it fall away in her lap…

There, sitting in the middle of the paper, was a dozen deep red roses – the petals of every flower still curled tightly about each other – tied together with a red silk ribbon. Immediately, she glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then carefully brought them to her nose. They gave off a sweet fragrance, and she found herself smiling.

It was at that moment that she saw a tiny note in the wrappings and, picking it up, she found that it said one small phrase:

_From a sincere admirer._

Snorting, the Seeker tossed the paper aside, even as a rare grin spread across her face.

“ _Bullshit_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by @Captain-Savvy!


End file.
